


the house we never built

by AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed



Series: Ghost!Strand [1]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Complicated Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Ouch, Spoilers for 2x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-07 12:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11058516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed/pseuds/AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed
Summary: Based on this prompt: "Promise me you won't let anything happen to him."What happens when Strand has to disappear, to protect himself and the people around him?





	1. i broke another glass in the house we never built

**Author's Note:**

> Titles are based on a song by Gabrielle Aplin

It all feels so surreal. They're out in the middle of nowhere, near a safe house of Coralee's.

 

It's hot and humid, and Alex's clothes stick to her body, rather uncomfortably.

 

Coralee tells Alex that she's going to take Strand somewhere more secure, much safer for the good doctor. Alex is tempted to demand what happens to her, but Coralee answers that question like she knew Alex was going to ask.

 

“You're not in as much danger as Richard is,” Coralee says. It sends a pang through Alex to hear Coralee call Strand by his name. The woman up and disappears for two decades, and then she appears like a guardian angel, as if nothing had happened.

 

“We're going to have a few people keeping an eye on you to keep you safe, in case you need it.” Coralee adds that last part with a just barely concealed polite disdain, like Alex doesn't really require any security, but she's just doing it to assuage the reporter's fears.

 

“Thanks.” The word sticks in Alex's throat like a giant, annoying glob of peanut butter.

 

“Coralee?” The two of them turn to see Strand in all his tired and grumpy glory.

“Could I have a moment with Alex?”

 

Coralee merely nods, and steps back a few feet.

 

Strand turns to face Alex. He looks wearier than she's ever seen him. “I suppose this is goodbye, for now,” he says, more of a statement than anything else.

 

She nods. “Yeah.” She doesn't want to express that she feels this might be the last time she sees him.

 

Awkwardly, he stuffs his hands into his pockets. There's really nothing that can be said, under the circumstances.

 

“Goodbye, Alex,” he says quietly.

 

“Goodbye, Dr. Strand.”

 

“Back to Dr _._ Strand now, are we?” he asks.

 

“Might as well,” she says, smiling weakly and glancing past him to look at Coralee. She remembers when Strand first told her to call him Richard, before everything went to shit.

 

He's at a loss for words, and she doesn't have the strength to say much else. But as he turns to leave, she's reminded of just how low Strand can get.

 

“Take care of yourself,” she says. He goes still, then revolves back to face her. “Please,” she continues. “Eat something every once in a while, drink water if you can't. Try to sleep a little, but I know that's easier said than done.”

 

He grants her a small smile. “Don't forget to follow your own advice.”

 

And then he's gone, climbing into the van provided by Coralee.

 

Coralee walks back up to Alex. “We have to head out,” she says. “Someone should be here soon to pick you up and take you home.”

 

Alex nods again, feeling like a bobble-head.

So many emotions are roiling within her, she should expect what comes next.

 

“Promise me you won't let anything happen to him.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, and earn an incredulous stare from Coralee. Alex feels her cheeks heat up. “Please,” she whispers. “Promise me.”

 

This isn't the first time she's lost Strand to the allure of Coralee, but it certainly feels like the last. All it takes is the mere mention of his wife, an audio clip of her voice, a cryptic message within a digitized recording of her favorite poem, and he shuts down, slams his walls up, catapulting Alex back to the beginning of trying to know who he is, and disappearing into his office.

 

Now, with the real deal, a tangible version of Coralee is dangling in front of him, and Dr. Richard Strand is surely about to disappear forever in the safety of an untraceable van, and Alex is left pleading with his wife, begging for a promise of Strand's wellbeing.

 

Coralee's gaze, warm at first, now sears into her, like Tiamat is ripping Alex's soul from her body. For a while, neither of them speak, every second feeling like a year, until Coralee's perfect lips part, and Alex can't help but wonder how many times Strand will kiss them after they've left.

 

“I promise,” Coralee says quietly, before turning away, leaving Alex quite literally in the dust as she climbs into the van and guns the engine.

 

Maybe it's her sleep-deprived brain playing tricks on her, but she's almost sure that Strand is watching her through the window as the van pulls away.

* * *

 

A year later,  after months of fighting to keep the podcast going, and  trying to keep an eye on Strand and Coralee, Nic calls Alex in a frantic frenzy as she knocks back a glass of wine. He tells her that Strand's body was found somewhere in a ditch near Olympia, at least a month old.

 

Alex's world churns to a stop, and she's stuck in slow motion as her cell phone falls  from her hand and shatters on the floor.

 

Alex follows soon, accidentally knocking over a bottle of wine on her table and she's on her hands and knees amidst a floor littered with shining glass and red wine.

 

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she vaguely thinks about how much the wine looks like blood.

 

Strand's blood.

 

Strand-

 

_Richard-_

 

She _promised_ . Coralee _fucking promised_ her that nothing would happen to Strand- _Richard_ , and look where promises had got them.

 

Nic comes over soon, finding Alex surrounded by shattered glass, her heart, and a puddle of wine. He holds her and listens to her sob about broken promises, leaving the suggestion of canceling the podcast for another day.

* * *

 

When Alex comes into the studio, she turns on the mic, and starts recording. She tells her listeners that Strand is dead and they are canceling the podcast, how they can support Ruby and the Strand Institute, et cetera. Before she signs off, she grips the microphone tightly.

 

“This is for you, Coralee. You promised. You promised you wouldn't let anything happen to him. I hope you're out there. I hope you're alive, and you have to live with the fact that he's gone and you couldn't keep a goddamn promise.”

  
She hits the button that stops the recording, and after some editing, those are the last words ever spoken on The Black Tapes Podcast.


	2. the winter feels cold enough to kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to do this from Strand's POV, but I think I messed up

His hands are shaking again. That hasn't happened since Coralee disappeared all those years ago, when she threw him to the sharks that were her parents, the police and a few reporters desperate for a story.

 

Coralee stands off to the side, talking to Alex outside the safe house. Both were acting anxious, though Coralee is more subtle whereas Alex is an open book. The tension between them is almost visible. Alex stares at Coralee with an unmistakable jealousy.

 

His mind can't help but go back to the conversation he and Alex had in the safe house.

* * *

 

_“So you're going with Coralee, then?” Alex clarifies. He nods. “It might be better for all of us,” Richard says._

 

_“For you, you mean.”  There's a slight bite to her words. Catching this,he counters with, “Going into hiding isn't exactly my idea of a vacation.”_

 

_“At least you'll be safe, with Coralee and all,” she says, her voice shaking a bit._

 

_Ah. Of course. “Alex,” he sighs. “I don't want to do this to you.”_

 

_“Well, there's no point in avoiding it, is there? You're about to go riding off into the sunset, God knows when you'll ever be seen again-”_

 

_“Alex-”_

 

_“-and hey, you've got your long-lost wife with you to work out all those issues-_

 

_“Alex-”_

 

 _“-and I'll be left sitting in a studio, trying to keep my job, and all I'll have ever been to you is your goddamn_ stand-in!” _Her voice has risen in volume with every rushed breath, and her dark eyes are so bright with tears it's a wonder they haven't spilled over._

 

_She stands there in all her half-starved and exhausted glory, looking small and tired, waiting for him to say something, but he can't think of anything he could say to mollify her. Her already small frame shrinks in defeat. “I'm going to get some air,” she mutters thickly, and turns away, leaving Richard alone with his shaking hands._

* * *

 

Their goodbye is awkward and short, and he feels a pang when she calls him Dr. Strand, because that is what strangers call him, and Alex Reagan is no stranger to him. There are shadows under her eyes, and he can't help but wonder how much darker they will get while he's gone.

 

He doesn't know what else to do, so he turns away, and she calls out to him, ordering him to take care of himself.

 

He listens to her give tips, and wants to laugh at the sick irony: Alex, plagued with sleeplessness, nightmares and _his_ demons, telling him in their final moment of contact to take care of himself.

 

He sits in the van, and through the open window he hears Alex’s voice addressing Coralee: “Promise me you won't let anything happen to him.” Something powerful grips his heart with a dizzying, painful intensity. These are the last words he will ever hear Alex Reagan speak, and he will remember them til his dying day.

 

Coralee climbs in and starts the van. He looks back at Alex as they pull away.

 

She just stands there, watching them, arms crossed. She could be crying, but they're too far away for him to be sure.  

 

“Richard?” Coralee says quietly. “Are you alright?”  He contemplates answering, but decides against it, and remains silent, staring at the horizon. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her knuckles tighten on the steering wheel.

 

“Richard, listen-” He doesn't want to hear his name falling from Coralee's lips, he wants it coming from Alex's. The woman they stranded in the middle of nowhere called him by the title meant for strangers, but right now the real stranger is the woman sitting in the driver's seat of an untraceable black van.

 

“Don’t.” It's that one word, rasped in the silence Coralee is so painstakingly trying to fill, that quiets her. Neither of them speak until they reach the next safe house.

* * *

 

Being back in Washington feels strange. The paranoia he already possessed coupled with the uneasiness Coralee has taught him threatens to swallow him in these streets.

 

He wanted to come back, to check on Alex, because reports on her rarely reach him anymore. He wants to say that he hopes she's moved on and found a new life, but that would be a lie.

 

At this point, he just hopes she doesn't completely hate him.

 

He hasn't reached Seattle yet, but he plans on it. He just needs to find a phone somewhere. Coralee refused to come with him, saying he was insane and there was no way they should step and inch towards Seattle. He was tempted to remind her of her promise to Alex, but Coralee has become particularly irritable when hearing a mention of the intrepid journalist.

 

Walking out the safe house door to catch the next flight to Washington probably hadn't been the most logical decision he'd made in his life, but he felt more right doing it than he had in awhile now.

 

All he had to do was keep moving now.

* * *

 

Richard had always been shocked that he had lived this long, honestly, what with moving shadows, cults and dozens of paranormal scientists out for blood.

 

So maybe he should've known his time was coming up when someone pressed the point of a knife into his back in a restaurant and forced him out into the alley.

 

He definitely knew when said knife plunged into his ribs.

 

And so ended the life of Dr. Richard Strand, bleeding out next to a collection of trash cans in an alleyway.

 

“Pray that your reporter friend cancels her little show when she hears about you, Dr. Strand,” says the man who dealt the killing blow, “otherwise we'll have to pay her a visit.”

 

Richard thinks of Alex Reagan, her right hand constantly clutching a recorder, expression set in determination, possibly facing death, and hopes she does what the man says, because the last thing he has ever wanted was for Alex to get hurt because of him..

 

He's reminded of the promise she extracted from Coralee, and wishes that he'd gotten a similar oath for Alex.

 

Perhaps not, though, because Coralee never seemed to be one who kept her vows.

 

 _Goodbye, Alex,_ he thinks, wishing he could tell her she'd never been a stand-in.

  
Richard Strand rarely apologizes for anything, unless it's sarcastically, but while the life drains out of him, his last thoughts are an apology to Alex Reagan, even though she'll never hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment/kudos, please?
> 
> I want to continue this with ghost Strand, but idk if that would work. I know we have a ghost Alex fic, but I haven't read it yet


	3. just a little jasmine, a little salt in my wounds

The longer Alex sits on the stiff wooden pew, the more numb she becomes. Sweat refuses to cease beading up on her palms, so she constantly wipes them on her black skirt. She feels jittery, but she’s not sure if that’s from nerves, lack of sleep, or the americano with three extra shots of espresso she drank earlier. She’s not really sure about anything anymore. 

 

She can feel Nic’s worried gaze focused on her, but she ignores it.

 

If standing in the middle of nowhere while waiting for Strand to leave her felt surreal, then sitting in a church for his funeral makes her feel like she’s on an acid trip.

 

She’s sure Strand would roll in his grave, (well, once they put him in it) at his funeral being held a church. Charlie apparently never held her father’s views about religion, or cared, and Alex hadn’t been allowed much input about the funeral anyway, other than to pick the caterer. The two of them, plus Ruby, had all banded together after hearing about what happened to the good doctor and rather than give into grief, threw themselves into preparing a good sendoff for Strand.

 

At least, Ruby and Charlie did. Alex still finds it hard to get out of bed in the morning, to take a shower, to try and fight off the omnipresent liquid lead in her veins. Something in her feels odd about that, wrong even. Strand’s daughter and his closest employee are doing a better job of coping than her, a reporter who had only known him for a little while. 

 

But Jesus Christ, she misses him.

 

Nic slides into the pew and into the space next to her. “You okay?”

 

She nods. “Thanks for coming. I know you’re busy, with TANIS and all-”

 

“Hey, my job can wait. You’re my friend, therefore you’re way more important than a bunch of conspiracies.”

 

Before she can respond, an organ starts playing, signalling the start of the funeral, so Alex gives Nic a small smile, and the two of them fall quiet and sit back.

* * *

 

The funeral is both a blur and an eternity, which is contradictory in itself but Alex chalks it up to her ADHD and lack of sleep. Maybe it’s because she feels herself staring at the closed coffin up in front of the pulpit for what feels like hours while blocking out everything else, only for Nic to nudge her every once in awhile and for her to realize that a decent chunk of the funeral has passed.

 

Charlie gives her eulogy, which is awkward for quite a few people in the room who know about, well, the whole emancipation thing, especially once she addresses it. 

 

She goes on for a few minutes about how she regrets severing ties in such a way, and how she hates that it took her father’s death to break down her stubborn resolve against  him, and so on. 

 

Alex honestly can’t tell if Charlie’s being genuine or not, and reading people has always been something she’s prided herself on. 

 

Eventually, she starts blocking that out and focuses back on the coffin.

* * *

 

The reception is oddly cheery, but seeing as Strand had far more enemies than friends (particularly enemies disguised as friends), perhaps Alex shouldn’t be too surprised. 

 

She doesn’t really know a lot of people here, they’re all mainly business associates that Ruby contacted, with the exception of some very extended family, so she sort of just floats around the room, until she gravitates towards the open bar. 

 

Amalia always recommends vodka for a funeral, but that seems like a wrong choice, so Alex instead settles for a glass of wine instead, white wine at that. She hasn’t been able to drink the red stuff in awhile, not since she got the news about Strand.

 

A woman in a sinfully short black dress tries to flirt with her, and maybe at another time, in another place (physically and mentally), Alex would be interested. Now, though, not so much. 

 

Nic comes up to check on her, and she pawns the woman off on him, weaving through the room heading for the door. 

 

She finds herself back in the church, standing  in front of the coffin. Her fingers trace the curved top, and she can see her own heart-broken reflection in the glossy wood.

 

A lump forms in her throat as she recalls the last real conversation she had with him.

 

“Please don’t be dead,” she whispers. She wants Strand to be far away from here, living comfortably in hiding, alive and well. She wants the body in the coffin, the one she and Nic had to I.D., to be a fake or something. She wants Strand to come back, make up with Charlie and be his grumpy self.

 

She wants a miracle.

 

A door creaks, and she hears footsteps on the carpet of the aisle.

 

“Nic, I’m fine. Please leave me alone.” 

 

“Are you sure?”

 

She tenses, and in a split second, her cool and numb grief bubbles and boils into a burning anger. She turns, slowly, to look into the eyes of Coralee Strand. 

 

It’s hard to breathe, now, and she’s shaking all over. “What are you doing here,” she says through clenched teeth.

 

“I came to pay my respects,” Coralee answers calmly. “Richard was my husband, after all.”

 

“Yeah, weren’t you ordered to seduce him by your little cult?” Alex demands. “Doesn’t sound like a legal marriage to me.”

 

Coralee closes her eyes, like she’s dealing with a petulant child.  “I did fall in love with him, Alex. I wasn’t planning to, but it happened.”

 

“Join the club,” Alex scoffs, then goes still as she realizes what she’s said. 

 

The pity in Coralee’s gaze only infuriates her. 

 

“You promised you wouldn’t let anything happen to him,” Alex hisses, trying to change the subject

 

“Did you ever meet him? He has quite the tendency for self-flagellation and not listening to people. He came to Washington of his own free will,” Coralee replies.

 

“And you just let him go? Alone?”

 

“I...we were arguing. When he walked out, I didn’t follow him. By the came I came to my senses, he was already gone and on his way. I tried to find him, Alex. I spent almost a week trying to figure out where he was, but he knew how to cover his tracks.” Coralee looks at her, pleading for her to understand. “You can’t imagine how I felt.”

 

“I can try,” Alex says, thinking of how similar to Strand’s own life Coralee’s story is. “The thing is, everyone thinks you’re dead or missing forever, so nobody is going to laser focus on you. You’re not going to be swamped by reporters, and he doesn’t have any family who will hate you and blame you for what happened. You don’t have a daughter who’ll disown you and spend the rest of her life refusing to talk to you.” Alex’s voice starts shaking, rising in volume and echoing off the walls. “You just have to disappear into the shadows and all your problems go away.” 

 

“Get down off your high horse, Alex,” Coralee snaps. “You think I haven’t suffered? You think I won’t be hunted down with more zeal than ever? There are people who wanted Richard dead, but there are an ungodly amount of people who needed him alive, and you went on your  _ goddamn podcast  _ and blamed me for all of it. They’ll all be after me for revenge, and let’s not forget the hate from some of your listeners. So yes, I will disappear into the shadows, but my problems are coming with me, and they are never going away.” As a last retort, she practically growls the last few words. “He came here to see  _ you _ ; that’s why he’s dead.” 

 

At the reporter’s stricken expression, she casts a final glance at the coffin before turning away and storming from the church, leaving Alex alone with a dead body in a wooden box.


	4. break it to me gently

When everyone has left, Alex walks through the cemetery, staring at all the graves she passes. Each decrepit headstone signifies an entire life that is now ended, and a group of people that were affected. She comes up on a headstone that is newly made, set in front of a fresh patch of earth the size of a coffin. 

 

Charlie Strand sits on the ground in front of it, her knees drawn up to her chest. Alex starts to turn away to give her some privacy, but the crack of a twig she’s stepped on alerts Charlie, who whips her head to look at the unexpected visitor.

 

“Sorry, I was just-”

 

“It’s okay,” Charlie says. “You can stay.”

 

Not wanting to argue, Alex takes a tentative seat next to her. Charlie yanks at a few threads hanging from the seams of her black dress pants. 

 

The two of them are silent for a few minutes, and those minutes feel like days. “Charlie...I’m really sorry,” Alex says quietly.

 

“Me too,” Charlie whispers, and in this moment, she looks nothing like the young woman Alex interviewed what feels like so long ago, full of anger and bitterness. She looks small, and defeated. “I, um-” Charlie clears her throat. “I started listening to your podcast, a little more in depth this time. Not because I cared about the story, I just… I needed to hear his voice again.”

 

Alex nods. “I’ve been doing that too,” she confesses. Mainly the beginning of the podcast, because maybe if she keeps hearing how it all started, she can convince herself that she and Strand were never anything more than professional with each other.

 

“But I did hear some of the stories. I heard...I heard what really happened to my mother.” Charlie seems to break a little more as the words leave her. Alex decides not to tell her that her mother was at the church earlier. “I’ve been  _ so angry _ all this time, and it wasn’t even his fault. I-I fucked up, Alex. And now he’s gone and I can’t even fix anything.” 

 

Alex doesn’t say anything, just listens. 

 

“He left me everything, too. Well, not everything, I guess; he gave some stuff to Ruby too. But now I’ve got my grandfather’s old house, and I don’t even want to go near that place, or any of the stuff in it.”

 

“Are you scared of what you might find?” Alex asks her.

 

“I-I guess.” 

 

“If you want, I could help you go through it all,” Alex offers. “I know how the place is built and where everything is; I’m sure Ruby would give us a hand too.” Charlie gives a somewhat dismissive or noncommittal nod, and falls silent again.

 

Alex stares at the headstone, with Strand’s date of birth  and death on it. It feels so final, all of this, like the entire funeral has been the messenger saying that’s it’s all over, no takebacks, Dr. Richard Strand is really dead.

 

“Did you love him, Alex?” Charlie says, breaking Alex’s train of thought.

 

“Wh-what?” 

 

“Did you love him?” Charlie repeats. “I know you two got...close.” 

 

Did she love Strand? Alex really has no clue how to answer that. Yes, she and Strand had some sort of relationship, both physically and emotionally, but was it love? All she knows is that she’s never felt as horrible as she did when Strand rode off with Coralee, or when she got the news that he was dead.  

 

Alex swallows hard. “I-I don’t know, Charlie. I think I did-maybe still do.” 

 

Sensing her uncertainty, Charlie changes the subject. “Did- did he ever mention me?”

 

Jesus, that’s going to be difficult. “Sometimes,” Alex says, figuring that would be a safe answer. When Charlie looks as if she’s expecting more, Alex tries to elaborate. “I mean, you were sort of a sore subject, I think, so I didn’t really bring you up that often, but...yeah, he’d talk about you sometimes.” Alex refrains from mentioning that the only time Strand ever really opened up about Charlie was after consuming a decent amount of wine. Charlie seems to relax a little at hearing that, but the guilt is still present on her face.

 

“I was such an asshole to him,” she sighs. “He didn’t deserve that.”

 

Alex feels that openly agreeing would be a bad idea, however much she fully supports that statement.

 

“Hey.”

 

The two of them turn to see Ruby, standing there, hugging herself due to the temperature drop and the sleeveless black dress she’s wearing. 

 

“Hey, Ruby,” Alex says.

 

“Um, Cheryl’s waiting for us at the restaurant,” Ruby says, nodding in greeting at Alex. “You ready?”

 

“Yeah,” Charlie says picking herself up off the ground. “You want to come with us, Alex?” 

 

If such an invitation had come at a time when Strand was still alive and Alex was still fully invested in the Black Tapes, she would’ve leapt at the chance to spend an hour or two with most of the women in Strand’s life. She would’ve kept up a relentless stream of questions about the enigmatic man and his past.

 

Now, she just wants to stay here, sitting on the cold ground, maybe go home later with a six pack and drink herself into oblivion.

 

“Thanks, but I’m going to stick around here a little longer,” Alex answers. “Maybe some other time.”

 

The two women look at each other, conflicted.

 

“Are you sure? It’s getting kind of dark, might not be safe.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Alex insists. “Go to dinner.” 

 

Reluctantly, Ruby and Charlie slip away, and when Alex glances back, the two of them are unnaturally close, holding-hands-close, at that.

 

Alex thinks that she must have done a tremendous job of blocking the world out during the last few months if she’s missed this development. 

 

With a sigh, she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a watch Strand gave her awhile back. Engraved on the back is a quote, painstakingly etched in Strand’s handwriting: 

_ Time heals what reason cannot.  _

_ -Richard _

 

There’s an odd symbol on it too, and she regrets that she never quite asked Strand what it was.

 

Strand was always a hopelessly confusing person. He hid so many meanings within things, you could never be sure what exactly he meant in saying anything.

 

Even now, she puzzles over what he could’ve possibly mean by that. She has a feeling that when she finally knows, it’ll have seemed so obvious.

 

She sits at Strand’s grave for another hour, before finally forcing herself to her feet and heading towards her lone, solitary car in the church parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so concludes the first part of a ghost!Strand series! Consider this the prequel.
> 
> Comment/kudos, please

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/kudos, please? Go English major on my ass?


End file.
